


Sweet/Bitter

by hannah_baker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bickering, M/M, Mating, Oral Sex, Sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because they were mates didn't mean this thing was a romance.</p><p>Wherein Derek's body claims Stiles as his mate, and now only Stiles can get Derek off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bitter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the whole "mates" thing. I honestly can't imaging the two of them coming at this whole thing with clear, level heads.

Stiles checked his phone one last time before he knocked on Derek’s door, the ominous _come over_ glowing off his screen in the dark hallway of Derek’s shitty apartment building. Come over. He knew what that meant. He barely had to knock at the door before he was beckoned in, Derek typing idly at his computer at the kitchen table. He only looked up briefly as Stiles slipped out of his shoes and locked the door behind him.

  
“You can just go undress, I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, and Stiles sighed. He knew he was making his own decisions in this interaction, and that he could choose to stop engaging Derek like this whenever he wanted. But he was an idiot, and he kept coming back.

  
He walked the short hallway back to Derek’s room - the only bedroom in the small apartment, and shrugged off his hoodie on the way. He draped it over the back of a chair by the bed, and peeled off the rest of his clothes, balling them up and leaving them on the seat of the chair where he always put them. He could hear Derek’s heavy keystrokes. He was still otherwise engaged.

  
Stiles dug his phone out of the pocket of his balled up pants and climbed into Derek’s bed. It was fall and chilly outside, but Derek always turned the heat up high when he came over, so it was nice and warm in the room. He didn’t even slide under the covers. Stiles knew that Derek didn’t do it for himself - he didn’t need the extra heat. He did it for Stiles.

  
Stiles started up the game he was playing on his phone, a little simple RPG that he’d just downloaded the night before, and started tinkering around with it, trying to find better weapons and explore his area of the map a bit. It was nearly ten minutes before he heard Derek’s computer shut, heard his steps drop heavy down the hallway.

  
“Put your phone away,” Derek said, pulling his own shirt over his head. Stiles turned to look at him, and he could see he was already hard, his loose basketball shorts giving him away. Not that he had anything to hide from Stiles.

  
“I gotta get to a save point,” Stiles said, directing his character south through the little town, trying to find a save beacon.

  
“Fuck your video game,” Derek said, pulling Stiles’ phone out of his hands and tossing it on top of his pile of clothes on the chair.

  
“Hey,” Stiles said, rolling over to his back, his lack of erection completely on display. He saw Derek’s face sink tiny, imperceptible millimeters. Stiles was getting better and better at reading his expressions. It annoyed Derek. “You text me, tell me to come over, and then ignore me. Do I complain? No. The least you can do is let me save my damn game.”

  
Derek just shrugged, pulled his pants and boxer briefs off in one slick movement, and climbed into bed, crawling over to Stiles and pinning him back. Stiles felt his cock jerk. From that point on, he wasn’t going to have a lot of control over the way his body reacted.

Being in bed with Derek wasn’t like being with Derek anywhere else. Anywhere else, their relationship was tense, their banter sharp, their interactions peppered heavily with eye rolls and the overall feeling of begrudged tolerance because of their mutual interest in Scott and his wolfy well being.

But it wasn’t like that in bed. In bed, Stiles felt _loved_. Derek pressed his body flush over Stiles’, taking his time to ease their skin together. He pressed their foreheads close and their eyes met, locking into a gaze that made Stiles’ heart jump in his chest. Derek had one arm braced on the side of Stiles’ head, the other hand stroking his cheek gently, gradually coaxing his chin up enough to press a slow kiss to his lips.

Derek’s mouth was soft, his lips smooth against Stiles’ own chapped skin, as he started with light, chaste presses. His tongue was delicate, choosing to tease more than please at the moment, and it only took a minute or two of kisses before Stiles felt fully hard, his erection pressing against the smooth skin of Derek’s stomach. He tried rocking their hips together, but Derek’s hand dropped from Stiles’ cheek to his hip, stilling his motion.

“Be patient,” his whispered into Stiles’ neck, before kissing down to his chest and sucking a mark in the center, right on his breast bone. It was a mark Stiles would look at later that night when he went home to shower, and try to remember the Derek whose fingers trailed lightly over his skin, whose cooling saliva made a shiver run up his spine, a sharp contrast to the Derek who would slap his ass when they got done and tell him to get out of his bed.

Stiles let his fingers find Derek, let them run through Derek’s hair. It was a little wild, no product to speak of, and sinfully silky. Derek pulled away from the mark he was finishing up on Stiles’ chest to meet his eyes again, something soft and kind waiting there. His smile lit his face on fire - Stiles almost never saw him smile outside of their in-bed escapades, so he liked to think of it as his personal property, however insane that sounded. Stiles didn’t care.

But Sitles wasn’t dumb enough to think that this was anything more than biological reactions. Six months ago he’d had an incredibly awkward and accidentally naked interaction with Derek (he could explain, okay? it’s _not_ what it sounds like) and then an even more awkward conversation followed wherein Derek had to explain to Stiles that they were apparently mates - that Derek’s body had claimed his. It was more awkward than seventh grade sex ed when he’d gotten a boner and everyone had noticed. Stiles still wasn’t sure how he survived it, but there were a few overarching things that he had to keep reminding himself of to be okay with their situation:

One) It was all biological function. Derek couldn’t help his attraction to Stiles now, at least not sexually.

Two) Derek couldn’t get off anymore (at least without extreme difficulty, though Stiles had never asked him for detail on what that meant) without him. Stiles’ hands, mouth, ass. Whatever. Once even over the phone when Derek had gone back to New York for a few days in the summer - though it did take a little while, and Stiles kept blushing deep every time he said something dirty and he heard Derek moan at the other end of the line.

Three) Derek was free sex for Stiles, which as a seventeen year old boy, was pretty golden. He didn’t know too many other people with a regular fuck coming their way. He tried to keep it in perspective and appreciate it for what it was. An orgasm. Thats all.

Four) Derek wasn’t Stiles’ boyfriend. Stiles liked to pretend that this one was easier to remember than it actually was. Derek reminded him of it enough, after all - even if it wasn’t in so many words.

But for now, he let himself sink into the fantasy of Derek’s eyes. Stiles had never seen Derek look at anyone the way he looked at him. He felt a blush creeping up his chest, and Derek made a strangely affectionate sound in the back of his throat, and nuzzled his stubble over one of Stiles' nipples. He hated himself for the moan that came out of his mouth. Derek could tell.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he said, and the simple endearment cut Stiles. The sweetness that came out of Derek in bed was never spoken of afterward, when Derek’s natural, guarded gruffness reappeared. “You don’t have to blush. You know I just want you to feel good.” Stiles faked a smile at him, and tried to believe it himself. Just an orgasm, he tried to remind himself.

Derek moved lower, kissing over Stiles’ stomach, fingers dragging down his sides, leaving shivery paths in their wake. Stiles tried to still his reaction before it happened, tried to be ready for the moment, but his hips still jerked up involuntarily when Derek took him in his mouth, warm and wet and wonderful in a way Stiles though he couldn't possibly deserve. Stiles closed his eyes and let Derek’s tongue be the only thing he felt.

The pre-fuck blow job portion of the night was usually fairly short, and Stiles tried to savor the passes Derek’s tongue made over his dick, the feeling of Derek’s soft lips on the head, and the light, feathery licks down to his hole, before Derek pulled away and gave the side of his hip a soft smack. 

“Roll over, sweetheart,” Derek said, and Stiles did what he said, getting on his knees, and finally facing away from Derek. These were the easiest moments for Stiles, when he could bury his face in Derek’s sheets and ignore the fact that it was Derek who was making him feel this way. He felt Derek’s mouth return, working him open. His tongue moved with purpose, and Stiles let himself moan into Derek’s pillow. He knew they’d both enjoy it more if he just let go a bit, stopped feeling so shit about it.

Derek’s hands spread his cheeks for better access, and Stiles pushed his ass back into Derek’s mouth shamelessly. He felt one of Derek’s hands drop from his ass, and he could hear Derek jerking himself behind him. Stiles knew there was pretty much nothing he could do in bed that wouldn’t turn Derek on - mate bond and all that. Maybe it was that power that kept him coming back. He liked that idea, held on to it.

When he felt ready, Stiles pressed his chest into the sheets, leaving his ass in the air. _Take me_ , he said without speaking. He hated asking for it - as though refusing to verbalize it allowed him to keep whatever dignity he had left. Derek pressed a wet kiss to the base of his spine before leaning over him to the side table to grab lube and a condom.

Stiles heard the tear of the foil, the squirt of the lube. He felt one finger press against him, then two, and he willed himself to relax _for the love of god relax_ , but he’d always been good at this part. Derek said it was his body recognizing his mate - that he wouldn’t relax and open up this easily for anyone else. Stiles wouldn’t know. Derek was the only person he’d ever let in.

Derek’s body covered him before he pressed in, and they took a moment to pause and breathe together. It was a kind of intimacy that Stiles thought this relationship didn’t deserve - just like the eye contact and the endearments. But this seemed different. This was an intentional establishment of a connection before Stiles felt the head of Derek’s cock at his ass, Derek’s hand stroking Stiles’ chest in an attempt to placate his little whimpers.

Derek nuzzled the nape of Stiles’ neck, his tongue licking at the short, soft hairs that grew in a bit of a secret cowlick by the hairline. He pushed in slowly, like he always did, letting Stiles get used to him. He started moving when Stiles bucked his hips back into him, asking for more. Stiles almost groaned at the slow, steady pace that Derek always found. It was torturous, the way he pressed them together softly, over and over again. If Stiles were to guess, before this whole scenario had shaken out, he wouldn’t have thought of Derek as a gentle lover. He would have expected bruises and rough fucking, and maybe his wrists tied to the headboard when Derek was feeling particularly in charge. He never would have guessed that sourfaced Derek Hale was a lovemaker.

Stiles arched his back trying to meet Derek’s motions, trying to get a little something more out of it. Derek pressed on though, maintaining his speed through Stiles’ protests. They both knew Stiles came the hardest this way, worked up slowly, to build his orgasm into something that he didn’t have enough patience to achieve alone.

Derek covered Stiles’ neck and cheek in kisses, one arm wrapped protectively around Stiles’ chest. Stiles was trying to ignore the feelings creeping up into his chest. The content safety, for one thing, was something that was unwelcome. He tried to resist the happy sigh that escaped his mouth without so much as consulting Stiles. His body was actively betraying him.

He whimpered as Derek pulled out, a blush creeping up his cheeks in embarrassment. Derek dropped a couple of kisses onto Stiles’ shoulders before untangled them. Stiles knew what was next. He wasn’t sure if he could handle this tonight. He rolled over onto his back, and Derek grabbed the lube again, coating them both this time, before he pressed their stomachs together, their erections sliding against each other.

He took Stiles’ face in his large hands, skin rough with callouses over the soft skin of Stiles’ jaw and cheeks, and kissed him, slow but deep. Stiles let his hands drift over Derek while Derek focused on the kiss. Derek’s body was perfect. Rough and well built and defined. He looked like he could grace the cover of a romance novel. Stiles reminded himself again of his four credos in his head. This was not a romance. He concentrated on the slide of his dick on Derek’s fucking perfect abs, tried to think of Derek’s body as an object. As the same kind of object Stiles knew Derek saw him as. It was unfortunately difficult.

Derek reached down to stroke them both together - just a few short jerks that made Stiles feel like he was creeping close to the edge, before stuffing a pillow beneath Stiles’ hips and sliding back into him.

All Stiles could do was lay there passively, Derek hovering over him, overwhelming all of his senses, and think that everything in that moment was right. The feeling of being completed, being whole had to be a biological reaction, right? He wrapped his legs around Derek’s hips and pulled him in tight, his arms grasping at Derek’s shoulders.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Derek said, his kisses moving from Stiles’ lips down to his jaw, to behind his ear. “So beautiful.” Stiles didn’t reply. He felt Derek’s dick brush near his prostate and let out a moan. He wasn’t very conversational in bed, but that didn’t mean he was quiet.

Derek sped up his thrusts, into a pace that was finally starting to feel satisfying to Stiles. The apartment that Derek lived in was old, with thin walls. But his neighbors went at it constantly, so Stiles didn’t feel bad letting out moan after moan.

“That feel good, baby?” Derek said, his voice edging toward raw, as his hips started jerking with less precision. Stiles just moaned again.

Derek sped up, seeking his own orgasm. Stiles almost never came with Derek inside of him. Derek tucked his face into Stiles’ neck as he came, his teeth nipping gently at the thin skin there, where Stiles’ scent was strong and consuming. He let his orgasm pulse through himself, and Stiles could feel it in his ass.

“Hey,” Derek said softly, affectionately, leaving a sweet kiss oh Stiles’ lips before pulling out finally and sliding the condom off his dick. He tied it off and tossed it in the garbage before settling back between Stiles’ legs and wasting no time. He got his mouth back on Stiles’  cock, and his hand on his balls, squeezing them gently as he sucked. It was no secret that Stiles thought he could exist on blow jobs alone. No food, no water, no video games. Just Derek’s mouth on his dick until the end of time.

But Derek knew Stiles was close when he’d pulled out, and kept the momentum Stiles had. Stiles didn’t have to warn him - Derek could see it in the way his stomach muscles clenched, in the way his heart skipped a beat. He was prepared for it when Stiles came, hard and with a moan that Derek felt a little proud of. He swallowed Stiles’ orgasm down his throat, just a bit dribbling out the corner of his mouth and onto Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles breathed in deep, a shiver wracking its way through his body. Fuck, that had been good. If nothing else, Derek made him come harder than he could alone, and part of him thought that was justification enough to keep responding to his late night booty call texts.

They both paused, before Derek stretched back over Stiles and pressed one more kiss to his lips. Stiles held his shoulders, trying to keep him there, and Derek momentarily deepened the kiss, his tongue playfully swiping at Stiles’, before he was gone, off the bed, and putting his clothes back on.

“Time for you to go home,” Derek said. He didn’t even look at Stiles.

Stiles sighed, reached out for his phone on the chair, and flipped back onto his stomach. He unlocked the screen to find his main character waiting for him patiently, right where he’d left him.

“What are you doing, Stilinski?” Derek said, his voice back to gruff Mr. Sour Hale.

“Getting to my fucking save point,” Stiles said, and Derek sighed. 

“Stiles, it’s time to go. It’s late. You have school in the morning.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and found the blinking circle he needed, stepping his character through it. ‘Your game has saved successfully!’ a voice on screen said, with a few notes of triumphant music following it.

“Hold your horses,” Stiles said, getting out of bed, and walking into the ensuite bathroom. He dug around under the sink for a washcloth for a second before Derek showed up in the doorway with one. Stiles gave him _a look_.

“You’re always in such a bad mood after,” Derek said, turning the tap on and waiting for the water to get warm. 

“I wonder why that is,” Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was over being naked in front of Derek, but sometimes he did feel vulnerable. He wasn’t over that yet. “It’s not like you keep your soft demeanor after you come.” Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Derek said, running the washcloth beneath the warm water before ringing it out. He paused for a second, and Stiles thought that he might help him wash up.

“You called me baby like, six times when your dick was in me, but the second you pull out I’m back to being Stilinski to you.” Stiles’ words were harsh. He wasn’t very good at talking about his feelings.

“I’m sorry I make you feel uncomfortable in bed. It’s mating instinct, keep you close, keep you safe, bring you to orgasm.” Stiles groaned.

“I need a boyfriend,” he mumbled, trying to take the washcloth from Derek’s hand.

“What was that?” Derek asked, confused sounding.

“I said I need a boyfriend,” Stiles said, over enunciating and making direct eye contact with Derek.

“What do you need a boyfriend for?” he asked, tugging the washcloth out of Stiles’ grip, and stepping closer to wipe the excess lube and come off his stomach.

“Oh, I don’t know. To have someone to go on dates with, kiss outside of sex, and have a conversation that’s more complicated than ‘yes’ and ‘harder.’” He put his hands on his own hips as Derek tended to him, wiping the washcloth delicately over his soft cock.

“You can’t have a boyfriend, Stiles,” Derek said, his voice low, but hard.

“What do you mean, I can’t have a boyfriend. Why the fuck not?” Stiles was feeling at the epitome of sassy, cranked up high after being ticked off for so long about this. He was snapping.

“Because if you get a boyfriend, I’ll probably kill him,” Derek said. Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m going to take that in a much lighter way than it sounded so I don’t feel like I’m naked in a bathroom with a psychopath,” Stiles said. 

“Stiles, you know you’re seventeen, right?” Derek said. Stiles gave him another eye roll. “Okay, obviously. I can’t be your boyfriend when you’re seventeen.” 

“You’re making up some bullshit, because if you can lay me out and fuck my ass at seventeen, you can take me to a damn movie, text me to see how my day went, and buy me a fucking pizza.” Derek sighed.

“I just thought you wouldn’t want to be in an emotional relationship with me. You were pretty opposed to it when it first happened,” Derek said.

“Yeah, dude. Before I spent six months getting fucked three to four times a week like clockwork by you. And have you ever had sex with yourself?” Stiles asked, emphasizing his words with his arms. He was shouting at Derek as much with his body as with his voice. “You’re intense, dude. Have you ever just _fucked_ someone? Cause I’ve watched a lot of porn, and what you do is not just fucking. That’s lovemaking. It’s fucking sensual or something. And then you kick me out of your bed, and I have to fucking live with myself the whole rest of the night and the next day thinking, “Stiles, you are a complete idiot for going back to him, he treats you like shit.” But then I think, “Hey, it’s a great orgasm at least, right?” And right before you get in bed and right after you leave, I think, “this guy is such a dick,” and then you kiss me and call me sweetheart and suck me off while maintaining eye contact and I spend the entire time under you trying to remind myself that it’s just biological function, and they’re just magical wolfy terms of endearment that you can’t help but choke out and good lord I am confused about you.” Stiles sucked a deep breath of air in and pushed past Derek, grabbing his boxer briefs off the chair and slipping them back on. He kept his back to Derek.

“I’m an asshole,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded.

“Right on the money,” he said, turning to reach for his shirt. Derek was behind him unexpectedly, and Stiles jumped a bit, giving Derek a scowl. Derek just put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders to still him.

“You want to go on dates?” Derek asked him, trying to figure out how to make this right. If this situation was boiled down to its simplest terms, Derek wasn’t letting the only person who could make him come leave his house angry at him. He liked to think it was more than that though. It _was_ more than that.

“It’s not just that I want to go on dates, Derek,” Stiles said, thinking that Derek was missing a lot of the point. “I want,” he paused. “Shit. I don’t know. Let me have a minute to think about how to word it.”

Derek backed off, and watched as Stiles put the rest of his clothes on. He checked his phone before putting it in his pants pocket. It was getting late.

Derek just stood there, still just in his underwear.

“What I want is someone who I can call at three am when I have a nightmare,” he started. “God, that sounded stupid,” he said, shaking his head.

“No, it didn’t,” Derek said, taking a tentative step closer to Stiles. “What else?”

“I want someone who I can text when I’m having a bad day - someone who will text me back to cheer me up. Someone I can share a meal with, because I eat too many dinners alone these days. Someone who wants to spend time with me because of the person I am, and not just for my body.” Stiles looked up to meet Derek’s eyes - that last comment was pointed. Derek nodded. “I want to be the first person on someone’s hang out list,” he finished, and Derek immediately thought of how Stiles was pretty much always free when he texted him. Scott had been spending almost all of his time with Allison lately.

Derek took Stiles’ face in his hands, brought them close together. “Is this okay?” Derek asked Stiles, and Stiles nodded. Derek’s kiss was smooth and slow, but short. He started pulling away, but Stiles followed him, just to stay close.

“Please don’t be an asshole about this,” Stiles said, and Derek frowned. 

“Stiles,” he said, looking incredulous. “You are my mate. All I want is you. For you to be happy.”

“There is no way I could look at our interactions and ascertain that, just so you know,” Stiles said, tentatively resting his hands on Derek’s hips. Yeah, he was comfortable with Derek’s body when they were in bed, but this was different. This was new. This hadn’t been allowed before.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at pushing people away the past few years,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded. He could imagine how that skill was honed.

“Then stop pushing me away,” Stiles said. Derek took a deep breath.

“Are you hungry?” Derek asked. “You wanna go get some food?” Stiles couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“It’s eleven forty-five and I have to wake up at six tomorrow. I do actually need to go home,” Stiles said. “But maybe tomorrow? After practice? We could get dinner? Try this... thing out?”

Derek nodded his consent, and pulled Stiles in for a hug. His instincts were telling him to keep Stiles close, but his history was telling him that arm’s length was the proper distance. This was going to be difficult.

Derek watched Stiles disappear down the hallway out his front door, but instead of every other time Stiles left when Derek would pace back to his room and flop on his bed, lamenting every asshole thing he’d said, he closed the door behind him and smiled. He couldn’t say the night went well, but there was some progress there.

The next morning in Econ, Stiles felt his phone buzz. _Can’t wait to see you tonight_ , the text read. Stiles tried not to feel giddy; he knew Derek’s track record regarding interpersonal relationships. But he’d listened to what Stiles had said. And at least he was trying.


	2. The During

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The During was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to write more? Lots of requests for more, so I complied. There will be one more chapter after this one too. 
> 
> This starts at the beginning of their sexual relationship and sort of fills up the space until the first chapter starts-ish. You'll understand. The non-linear nature of this story is fine, not complicated, don't worry about it.

“Do you want to kiss?” Derek asked Stiles, the two of them standing awkwardly in Derek’s bedroom, trying to get a handle on the situation. Stiles was here for a reason. But he didn’t really want to think about that right now. He didn’t want to think about it at all, actually.  
  
“Not really?” Stiles said, his answer a question. _That’s okay, right?_  
  
“That’s fine,” Derek said, and even though his tone remained even, unattached, slightly... surgical, Stiles thought he could sense his disappointment.  
  
“How do you want to do this?” Stiles asked, his hands swinging together, then apart, then together again, colliding in anxious smacks that reverberated through the quiet room. He could feel his own heart beating in his throat. The only dick he’d ever touched was his own. He took a deep breath and tried to place himself in Derek’s shoes. If only one person on the planet could get him off and it wasn’t even himself he’d want that person to be cooperative too.  
  
“Um, I don’t even really have to take my pants off,” Derek suggested.  
  
“That’s probably good,” Stiles said.  
  
“On the bed, or?” Derek asked. This was hands down the least romantic sexual encounter he’d ever had.  
  
“On the bed is fine, I guess,” Stiles said, and Derek climbed in, and scooted his pants down, just below his butt.  
  
There was a full grown man laying on his back with his rock hard dick exposed, and Stiles was just supposed to climb in there with him and...  
  
Stiles got into Derek’s bed, trying to steady his breathing. He was trembling, but trying not to, the way he suppressed his shivers in winter. Tried to just relax. He stopped himself with about a foot of space between him and Derek.  
  
“Uhh,” Stiles stuttered out, unsure of what to do. He held his hand out as though he was going to make a move, but it froze.  
  
“Can I...” Derek asked, giving him a pitying look.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles said, ready to accept any help Derek was willing to give him.  
  
Derek snaked his arms around Stiles and pulled him flush to his side, and tucked Stiles’ head on his shoulder so he wouldn’t feel pressure to make eye contact. Then he took Stiles’ hand and wrapped it around his dick, his own curled around the outside of it.  
  
“Is this alright?” Derek asked. He could smell the fear coming off of Stiles. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Stiles said, and Derek moved their hands together over his erection. It was painful. He’d gone too long trying to avoid the most awkward conversation of his life, and then there had been a few days for Stiles to just soak it all in before Derek asked him for his help. He was so worked up - for some reason even the presence of Stiles in his house, the way he smelled, the knowledge that his mate was in his bed right now aroused Derek more than any porn he’d ever watched.  
  
His movements were never leisurely. Stiles’ hot skin on his was more than enough to excite him, and even though he’d tried the exact same movements with his own hands for days, it only took about two minutes of Stiles’ hand on his dick before he came messy on his chest, Stiles making a bit of an ick face at the come on his hand. Derek grabbed a few kleenexes from his side table and handed a fistful to Stiles.   
  
“Bathroom is through that door,” he said as Stiles quickly untangled himself from Derek. Derek mopped himself up quickly, resolving to have a shower after Stiles left. The taps shut off in the bathroom, and by the time Stiles came back out, Derek’s pants were pulled back up, and he was standing next to the bed. “Thanks,” he said. “You can go home now.”  
  
He was harsher than he’d expected himself to be, but he couldn’t let himself get attached - not after Kate. And Stiles wasn’t interested, he was just kind-hearted enough to understand that this was a problem that he alone could solve.  
  
Stiles gave him a nod and walked straight out of his bedroom, and out his front door.  
  
-  
  
Derek almost couldn’t help himself, the first time he kissed Stiles. Stiles was on his back on the bed, Derek hovering over him, holding up his own weight with this arms. Stiles’ hand was on him, jerking him nice and slow. Stiles was a lot more comfortable now, a month and a half after their first encounter. Derek shifted his hips into Stiles’ movements, and couldn’t help but stare into his eyes. They were heavy and lidded, and it made Derek so horny he could hardly stand it.  
  
It had taken six hand jobs before Derek had smelled the faintest bit of arousal on Stiles, but now it was here, and it was wafting off of him in full force. Stiles varied the pressure of his hand on Derek’s cock, and Derek groaned, locking eyes with Stiles before he leaned down and pressed their lips together.  
  
Stiles jumped a bit, a little at the surprise but also at the spark of electricity that flowed between them. Stiles was only smelling more and more delicious. Derek kissed him again, and Stiles kissed back, his lips a little clumsy either due to the distraction of having to keep his hand going on Derek, or out of inexperience. Derek thought a combination of both, probably.  
  
Derek let himself enjoy the way Stiles tasted, the way his lips gave to his will, but also fought back. He enjoyed the heat that came off of Stiles’ bare chest, that Derek could feel even though he had a good three inches of space between them. Last time Derek had gotten come on Stiles’ shirt - this time Stiles consented to removing it, even though that involved the kind of blush that Derek would have liked to chase below his belt.  
  
Derek could feel Stiles’ other hand reaching down between them, adjusting himself through his pants. Having Stiles in his bed was generally more than enough to get him off, but having Stiles with an erection in his bed was almost too much.  
  
“Go faster, I’m getting close,” Derek said, and tucked his face into Stiles’ neck. He glanced down between them, one of Stiles’ hands moving more quickly over him, the other softly palming his own erection through his jeans. Derek groaned at the sight, his stomach muscles clenched, and he came, warm and thick over Stiles’ stomach.  
  
He pressed a kiss into the crook of Stiles’ neck before descending, hovering over the mess he’d made. Stiles was breathing heavily, his hands dropped down to his sides, fisting in the sheets. Derek dipped his head down and licked through a puddle of his come, Stiles’ stomach muscles shuddering under his tongue. He moved back up and pressed his kiss to Stiles’ lips, and Stiles squeaked and brought a hand up to rest on the back of Derek’s neck, licking the taste out of Derek’s mouth.  
  
This had started so clinically, but every time Derek and Stiles ended up in bed together, things inched a bit further. Derek was pretty sure this had been in the works for at least a couple weeks.  
  
“Let me make you come,” Derek said. He felt bad every time he pushed Stiles out of bed after their one sided sexual encounters. Stiles hesitated, then nodded. Derek grabbed the washcloth off his side table and gave Stiles a perfunctory clean up before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans and yanking them over his hips. Stiles’ dick jumped, hard and warm and heavy.  
  
Derek took Stiles in his hand, giving him a couple of slow strokes before going for it and taking him into his mouth. Stiles gasped, and Derek looked up, making eye contact with Stiles, his lips wrapped around his dick. He knew how pornographic it must have looked.  
  
“You don’t have to,” Stiles started, gasping as Derek moved his tongue to swirl around his head. “I mean, I haven’t even,” he started, and then he sighed, pressed his head back against his pillow and let out a moan. No, Stiles hadn’t sucked off Derek yet, but Derek figured he had a lot of orgasms to repay. He might as well get started on them.  
  
He sucked Stiles gently, licked his length, took his balls in his mouth briefly, nuzzled into Stiles’ soft pubic hair. When he put his mouth back on Stiles, he took him almost all the way in, and Stiles pushed back at his shoulders.  
  
“I’m close,” Stiles said, “Derek, I’m gonna come soon.” Derek didn’t let off though. He just sucked harder until Stiles’ hips bucked up and he came, filling Derek’s mouth. Derek swallowed, licked him clean, and gave his hip a pat.  
  
And it was done.  
  
“Time to go,” he said, pulling his boxers back on first, then pulling his shirt over his head. He was trying not to think about how incredible Stiles looked in his bed, flayed out, sated, flushed, amazing. He turned his back to keep himself under control lest he climb back in bed and hold Stiles tight to his chest. The last time he'd taken someone as his own, given himself to someone else completely - well.   
  
He heard Stiles grumble behind him. He knew that Stiles didn’t like the way these things ended - quickly and unemotionally. Even after the first couple of times he seemed a little off put when Derek had shoved him out the door. But Stiles had to leave now, or Derek would never let him leave ever. And that would be bad for both of them.    
  
“Yeah yeah,” Stiles said, locating his own clothing and running a hand over his buzz.  
  
“Thanks,” Derek forced out, as Stiles walked out the door. Stiles just shrugged.  
  
“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow,” he said, and Derek nodded. Every other day had become routine. Every day would be perfect, honestly. Multiple times a day. Finding his mate had made him even hornier than before. He felt like he’d just discovered his dick again. But he couldn’t ask that of Stiles. He felt bad that it was this often to begin with.  
  
-  
  
“God I want to fuck you,” Derek whispered harsh into Stiles’ neck. Stiles whimpered. Three months in found them both naked and slick, their fronts almost completely covered in lube - Stiles would never be in charge of that again if Derek had any say in it.  
  
Derek’s hand was wrapped around both their erections, pulling slowly and smoothly, trying to tease out all the little moans he could get out of Stiles that afternoon. Stiles had forty-five minutes between grocery shopping with his dad and dinner at the McCalls with Scott and Allison so naturally he was getting his daily orgasm.  
  
At least this week it’d had been daily. Derek wasn’t sure what was different, but Stiles was hornier than Derek had ever seen him. Not that he minded.  
  
“Derek,” Stiles moaned, his arms moving from their death grip on Derek’s shoulders to circling his neck, pulling his face up for a kiss. Once Stiles got comfortable in bed, he was incredible. Unashamed, flexible, creative. He could be demanding too, but today he was passive, letting Derek give him his orgasm on a silver platter instead of having to work for it.  
  
“What do you think?” Derek asked him, passing a slick palm over the head of Stiles’ dick.  
  
“Hmmm?” Stiles asked, letting his question become a moan as Derek’s grip reformed on him.  
  
“I want to fuck you,” Derek said, enunciating more than normal.  
  
“Right now?” Stiles asked, confused. “I’m getting close.” Derek could tell when Stiles was getting close, and while he wasn’t about to come, it would have been a very _very_ short fuck.  
  
“No,” Derek said, dipping to kiss him in the middle of his request. “Tomorrow?”  
  
Stiles squirmed beneath him, and he sped up his hand, biting tiny marks across Stiles’ collarbone as he arched up to Derek and came, his breath coming heavy and then evening out, as Derek finished himself off.    
  
“You can say no if you don’t want to,” Derek said, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder as they both came down.  
  
“No,” Stiles said, his breathing rough and hard. Derek’s heart sank. “I mean, no, I want to,” he continued, clarifying. “Yeah. Tomorrow,” he said, and then laughed. “I must look obscene,” he said, as Derek started peeling himself off of him. It was officially time for the post-orgasm-avoid-eye-contact portion of these encounters. Derek didn’t miss Stiles’ eye roll though. He just pushed it down. He wasn’t going to get Stiles involved in an emotional relationship that could very well consume them.  
  
“Bathroom,” Derek said, leading the way. Stiles followed on unsteady legs, and Derek tossed a wash cloth to him from a clean stack under the sink. Derek wet his under warm water and went to the task of cleaning himself off.  
  
Stiles followed suit, completely aware of the juxtaposition between kisses and nuzzles and Derek’s cold shoulder. But this was the way it was, and the hottest guy he’d ever talked to had just given him yet another orgasm. He was trying not to look a gift wolf in the fangs.  
  
Stiles turned the water to cold, knowing that it would get their come off his stomach easier than hot water, for whatever reason. It was science. He tried to clean up as much as possible, though he knew that no matter what he did he was going to smell like jizz to Scott, which hopefully Scott would have the decency to not bring up this time.  
  
Derek was already out of the bedroom by the time Stiles was done in the bathroom. He dressed alone, and wandered straight toward the front door instead of making an attempt at finding Derek. Stiles knew by now that goodbyes weren’t his style.  
  
Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder as he reached for the doorknob and turned toward Derek. His eyes were intense, and he took Stiles’ face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Derek said, his breathing heavy and labored.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Stiles confirmed. Derek looked like he was going to kiss him, and he tilted his head up slightly to receive it, just to have Derek break away and walk toward the back of his apartment into his kitchen.  
  
Stiles sighed. As soon as he felt like he had a handle on Derek, he veered left. The fuck was his deal?  
  
-  
  
If Stiles could take it back, he wouldn’t have let Derek fuck him.  
  
It felt too good, too real, too...fuck. Stiles was pushing his hips backward, straining for the pounding he wanted. Derek’s chest was pressed to his back, his body seemingly everywhere. Derek didn’t wear cologne but he always smelled amazing anyway, and Stiles could smell him one hundred times better when his dick was up his ass. Wolf magic, Stiles expected. File under: Whatever.  
  
Getting fucked made him sound pathetic. His voice strained and whined, stretched the way he had stretched to accommodate Derek.  
  
The first time Derek had stretched him open it had been a little awkward, but it had hurt less than when he’d tried it himself. Now Stiles spread his legs the first chance he got, shoving Derek’s hand down behind his balls, or flipping onto his stomach right off the bat. Yes. It was _that_ good.  
  
Derek was busy - his mouth covered the long, smooth plains of his pale skin, his hands held Stiles' hips so delicately. Derek called him baby, and Stiles pushed himself closer to his older lover, wrapped himself tighter in Derek’s arms.  
  
Stiles’ knees gave out beneath them, and Derek’s arms came around his chest, holding them nearly flush together, flat on the mattress, his movements concentrated to just the hip area. The position didn’t lend for much enthusiastic thrusting, but the change in angle seemed to be doing something particularly enjoyable for Stiles.  
  
“Der,” Stiles strained out, one of his hands tangling with the tips of Derek’s fingers.  
  
“Sweetheart,” Derek cooed, worshiping the nape of his neck with his mouth.  
  
Stiles had never had a boyfriend before, but he imagined that sex with your boyfriend would be pretty similar to this. Lots of loving and holding and stroking. Lots of longing glances. Lots of eye contact and hands everywhere and those lush, slow kisses that Derek couldn’t get enough of.  
  
After, Stiles drove his car to the grocery store parking lot halfway between his house and Derek’s so he could calm down. He didn’t start crying after being with Derek until they'd started fucking, but Stiles had gotten into a bit of a rhythm with it. Solo aftercare, alone in his car after the grocery store had closed. He had visine in his glove box for when he and Scott smoked out in the woods, but usually his dad was asleep or at work when he got home anyway so he let his eyes stay red and angry looking.  
  
He cut his lights at the back of the lot and practiced the breathing exercises he’d learned when he’d started having panic attacks after his mom died. He tried not to remember the emptiness in Derek’s eyes when he was putting his clothes back on that night. He wasn’t sure what was worse - the way Derek looked at him after they had sex, like he was literally nothing - or the way Derek looked at him during sex, like he was every single thing in the world. Both things made him hurt raw inside, his wound useless and bleeding in his gut.  
  
But he knew he’d go back because no matter what Derek said or did in The After when he got quickly out of bed, for the half hour they spent tangled in Derek’s sheets Stiles felt whole in a way he hadn’t since his mom had died. He knew that The After was getting worse and worse - his wound was slowly letting him bleed out. But he didn’t care. He’d chase The During no matter what the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's gonna be one more chapter - the sort of during and after of them sorting out their damn feelings. So you all have that to look forward to in the new year I guess. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and thank you so much for encouraging me. Every sweet word makes my heart burst. Thank you. 
> 
> [personal tumblr](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com)   
> [teen wolf tumblr](http://hannahisawolf.tumblr.com)


	3. Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dessert actually means dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bit starts the day after the first chapter.  
> My non-linear narrative is not confusing I promise!

Stiles was surprised they had anything to talk about.  
  
Their dinner conversation was relaxed, for a first date - or whatever it was. Derek looked a little uncomfortable at some points, but he was a gentleman which was more than Stiles expected.  
  
“I can’t believe you remembered me mentioning this place like, eight months ago,” Stiles said when the conversation lulled, motioning to the interior of the restaurant. The Lowbrow had the best burgers in all of Beacon Hills and its surrounding areas, and would actually cook them to order. It was hands-down Stiles’ favorite restaurant, but he almost never went anymore because he was trying to keep his dad off red meat.  
  
“You made it sound pretty good,” Derek said, avoiding addressing the obvious fact that he had pretty much zero relationship with Stiles above general disaster avoidance when he’d filed away that particular bit of Stiles Trivia. Stiles realized this, but let it slide.    
  
Instead, he let his eyes roam over Derek’s chest, a soft, tight, black sweater stretched over his shoulders. Stiles had a thing for Derek’s shoulders, but he thought he’d be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t.  
  
Derek asked about lacrosse, asked about the paper he was writing on the Civil War for American History. Stiles couldn’t believe he’d remembered that too.   
  
Stiles and Derek had talked before. Some nights Derek invited him over and they chatted for a while before getting down to the nitty-gritty. Most times they didn’t. But now, Derek wasn’t being the asshole Stiles was used to. He was closer to the Derek that Stiles knew in bed, when forehead kisses were a given, and not a pipe dream.  
  
Stiles tried to argue for his half of the check when the bill came, but Derek refused.  
  
Derek drove them back to his apartment, where Stiles had parked his car, but when Stiles moved toward it to go home, Derek grabbed his hand.   
  
“Dessert?” he asked, his face almost shy. Stiles nodded.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he actually meant dessert or if he meant sex, but he could be persuaded either way.  
  
Stiles followed Derek up to the third floor. Derek didn’t let go of his hand.  
  
Derek’s kitchen was a little galley kitchen, typical for the size of his apartment - tiny. Stiles noticed that his fridge was nearing empty when Derek opened it up, and almost completely empty when he pulled the bakery box out.  
  
“I hope you like chocolate,” Derek said, lifting the top of the box and pulling a chocolate torte from inside.  
  
“Holy shit,” Stiles said at the sight of the cake. “You actually meant dessert,” he said, reaching up into the cupboard with plates and grabbing two small ones, and some forks from the silverware drawer. He handed Derek a knife to cut the cake with.  
  
“Of course I meant dessert,” he said. He raised the knife to make the first cut, but then put the knife down, lifting his fingertips to Stiles’ jaw instead. “You’re having a good time?” he asked, tracing down his jawline to below his chin.  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles said, his breath caught in his throat. Derek was taking this seriously. He couldn’t believe it.  
  
“Good,” Derek said, and turned his attention back to cutting the cake.  
  
-  
  
Derek was glad that it was Stiles who climbed into his lap after dessert, who had kissed him, warm and hungry, mouth still tasting like chocolate. He was slightly timid at first, settling on top of Derek’s thighs in a cautious straddle. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Stiles had made his demands clear, and it was still strange for Derek to be in this position. He’d wanted Stiles like this for so long. He’d feared Stiles like this for so long.    
  
But it felt right. His hands found Stiles’ hips and pulled him a little closer, his head tilted up to meet Stiles’ lips. Stiles kissed him the way he knew Derek liked to be kissed. He kept it slow and drew it out. He let his hands roam over Derek’s jaw, back through his hair and down his neck before returning to his cheeks, letting his thumbs brush over Derek’s stubble.  
  
Derek’s hands crept up the back of Stiles’ shirt, and he was surprisingly turned on by the exploration of Stiles’ otherwise clothed skin. They did their own disrobing, in generally unsexual ways. Whatever got them the nakedest in the least amount of time. But it was sexy, having Stiles clothed and aroused and on him with an almost teenaged innocence. They were just making out on the couch. They’d skipped this part initially, and god it felt amazing.  
  
Stiles pulled back, let his mouth hang open like it almost always did.  
  
“Is this?” Stiles started, pressing another kiss to Derek’s lips. “Is this what we’re supposed to be doing?”   
  
“What do you mean?” Derek asked, pressing his palms flat to Stiles’ bare back. His skin was hot and it made Derek a little dizzy with desire.  
  
“Is this what you want?” Stiles asked, his voice pulling back into defense, even though his body was saying something completely different.  
  
“Yes,” Derek said, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck. “I want this. I want you. Is this what you want?”  
  
“I don’t understand you,” Stiles said, wrapping his arms around Derek and holding him close to him. “You were an asshole.”   
  
“I was protecting you,” Derek said, and the conviction in his voice was enough to let Stiles know that he honestly thought that’s what he was doing. Stiles unwound himself from Derek’s arms and sat back in his lap.  
  
“You were hurting me,” Stiles said. He didn’t want to ruin this moment they had going, but he needed Derek to know his side of it.  
  
“I couldn’t have asked that much from you,” Derek said, trying to get Stiles to understand. He did this, treated Stiles this way, because Stiles meant something to him.  
  
“You asked everything from me,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “And I got nothing back.”  
  
“Baby,” Derek said, reaching for Stiles’ face to pull them closer together. The way this conversation was going was making him nervous.  
  
“Please don’t,” Stiles said, pulling away from Derek’s touch. He got out of Derek’s lap and took a few steps away from him. “Please don’t call me that right now.”  
  
Derek followed him, but didn’t crowd him. He held out his hand to Stiles, but Stiles shook his head. He dropped the offer.  
  
“Okay,” Derek said. “Okay.” He took a breath, trying to figure out how to fix this. How he’d gotten into this mess in the first place. “Stiles,” he said, his voice heavy. He locked his gaze on Stiles, on his honey brown eyes, his buzz that he loved to run his hands over, the upturn of his nose. He looked so young.  
  
“Der,” Stiles responded. He sounded tired, but Derek didn’t blame him. They’d been dragging this out for a while.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his lips pressed into a hard line. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He crossed them behind his back, unthreatening.  
  
“You know what I’d do after we had sex?” Stiles asked after a long pause. He didn’t want to have this conversation ever, but he couldn’t let Derek touch him and hold him and call him sweet names until he knew.  
  
Derek shook his head, a question in the furrow of his brow.  
  
“I’d go to Hink’s - cause it was right in the middle of my drive home, and I’d park my Jeep in the back of the lot and cry.” Stiles didn’t say these words for pity and he didn’t cry again. He said them with courage. He said them because he needed Derek to know that he wasn’t the one who wasn’t caring.  
  
“Goddamnit,” Derek said, closing the gap between them and pulling Stiles to his chest. Stiles’ arms wrapped around his waist, and Derek could feel him giving in to the hug. “Did you? Last night?” Derek’s voice cracked. He felt completely ashamed of himself. Stiles nodded against his chest, and he held on tighter.  
  
They stood there, in the middle of the living room, clinging to each other. Derek tried to keep his mind from racing - from imagining all of the scenarios he wanted so painfully for his future. Variations on Stiles. Stiles with a towel slung low on his waist in the morning post-shower, Stiles wrapped up in his sheets, eyes sleepy before bed, Stiles leaning against his chest on the couch as they lazily watched a movie they’d already seen.  
  
When Stiles pulled back from their embrace, his eyes were dark, alluring. He took a deep breath and grabbed Derek’s hand, leading him down the hall to Derek’s room. He fixed Derek with a halting gaze when he stopped beside the bed, before reaching down to the hem of his shirt and starting to strip.  
  
“Woah, woah,” Derek said, grasping his shirt and pulling it back down. “We don’t have to do that tonight,” he said. “We can wait until things smooth out a little. Until you trust me.”   
  
“Derek, just because you’ve been a royal ass to me doesn’t mean I don’t trust you,” Stiles said, attempting again to take his shirt off. Derek held it down.  
  
“I don’t want to do this because you feel like you have to, or that’s what you think our relationship is, because I want it to be more than that,” Derek said. That was a lot of... admitting his feelings. But it wasn’t as painful as it could have been. It was Stiles, after all. It was just Stiles.  
  
Stiles looked at him a little strange, contemplative. Then he pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips, just a chaste little nothing.  
  
“And that’s why I want to do this,” he said. Derek’s hands kept Stiles’ shirt on, even as he made another attempt to struggle out of it.  
  
“This is what you want?” Derek said. Stiles nodded enthusiastically. This was treading into different waters. Before, even if he had never felt platonic feelings during their encounters, they were defined (at least out loud and officially) by a lack of emotion. They were defined by biological function. But now, Stiles was asking Derek to fuck him because he wanted _Derek_ , not because he wanted a fuck.  
  
Derek’s hands worried the hem of Stiles’ shirt a bit before pulling it over his head. He’d lost his flannel on the couch when they’d been eating dessert, so there was just one thin layer of cotton protecting him - and the it was off. Derek let his eyes worship Stiles’ body in a way he hadn’t gotten to yet, as something Stiles was giving to him instead of just lending for his use. When Stiles immediately began trying to shuck his jeans too, Derek stopped him and backed him up to the bed.  
  
“I want to do it,” Derek said, his hands resting on Stiles’ hips, tugging a bit on his belt loops to show Stiles his interest.  
  
“Okay, yeah,” Stiles said, already a bit breathless. He laid down on the bed, and Derek covered him, kissing and touching, letting Stiles know how gorgeous he thought his body was. It was always like this in bed - soft and affectionate and gentle.  
  
Derek sat back on his haunches and pulled his own sweater over his head before unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans and sliding them off his hips, being careful when he pulled them off over his feet. He got back up to take his own pants off, sliding his boxer briefs off with them, before pressing himself back to Stiles.  
  
Stiles still had his underwear on, and Derek snapped the waistband of them, trying not to salivate. He could see the outline of Stiles’ erection through the strained fabric, and while he’d seen Stiles aroused countless times in the past months, this seemed more casual, but more intimate. It was incredibly sexy.  
  
Stiles wasn’t bulky like Derek was, but he had a slim musculature to him, leanly following his trim frame. His biceps were defined, but still soft looking, and Derek ran kisses up his arm, nuzzled his neck. Stiles wiggled beneath him as he tried to get his boxers off too, but Derek stopped him.  
  
“I want to,” he repeated, and Stiles nodded, rolling his eyes a bit at him. But his smile gave him away. Derek pulled his underwear down and off slowly, then settled between Stiles’ legs. “You’re perfect,” he said, and watched his favorite blush cover Stiles’ chest and cheeks.    
  
Derek made it last, just kissing Stiles, running his hands over his body. He settled them together, and stroked Stiles’ erection slow, teasing out a few little moans before Stiles got needy.  
  
“Hey, Fangs, you wanna get on with it or are you just going to drive me crazy the whole night?” Stiles asked, and Derek sighed dramatically before grabbing the lube and a condom. Derek went to rip the packet open, when Stiles stilled his hand. “You don’t have to,” he said, his voice actually timid for the first time that night.  
  
“Yes I do - at least for now,” Derek said, ripping it open. The decision to abandon condoms could be made later when they weren’t both horny as hell.  He slid the condom on slow, knowing that Stiles liked to watch, and covered a few of his fingers in lube.  
  
Stiles gasped as he pushed in, just one finger at first, but it only took a couple minutes before Stiles was rocking into Derek’s two fingered thrusts, holding Stiles’ hips still with his other hand.  
  
Stiles’ arms gripped Derek’s shoulders tight as he pushed in, and pulled Derek close to him, bodies flush. Derek could feel Stiles’ heart beating against his own, their chests thumping in tandem. Derek had fucked Stiles _a lot_ , but here now, with Stiles opening up more than just his legs to him - it was too much. His head swam, and he could barely hold onto the slow, steady pace that drove Stiles crazy.  
  
Instead, his hips found their own rhythm, encouraged by the moans that were coming out of Stiles’ mouth. He fucked Stiles the way Stiles always wanted to be fucked - hard. Derek fucked him on his back the entire time, skipping any variety. He’d fuck Stiles doggy style, or against the wall, or have Stiles ride him later. Right now, he just locked eyes with Stiles as Stiles reached between them to jerk himself off. He came with Derek still in him, which he almost never did, and Derek felt Stiles’ orgasm rip through his body, felt it morph into his own.  
  
They were both breathing hard, and when Derek leaned in to kiss him, he had a bit of doubt on his face, as though he expected Derek to kick him out of bed again.  
  
Instead, he settled down next to Stiles and pulled Stiles close to him, letting his fingers run repeatedly through his fresh buzz. Derek liked it the best the first couple days after Stiles shaved it when it held the perfect contrast of prickly and silky. He ran a hand down his nape, over the soft skin of his back, down to cup his ass. Stiles felt so pliant and young against him. A pang of _illegal_ raced up his spine not for the first time, but he tried to suppress it. Stiles was nearly an adult now, and he’d had to grow up a lot more quickly than most kids. Everything they did was with Stiles’ explicit consent.  
  
Derek continued his ministrations over Stiles' skin, listening to his sighs and feeling his body relax even further after his orgasm.  
  
“For real?” Stiles asked, a few minutes into their quiet cuddle. Derek pressed a kiss to the top of his head.  
  
“Huh?” Derek asked, still a little drunk on their closeness, drunk on the fact that his mate was laying contently next to him in his bed after being, if Derek had anything to say about it, quite thoroughly fucked. Stiles felt just as Derek imagined he would - a little twitchy even in his stillness, but warm and sweet.  
  
“Is this for real?” Stiles asked, sounding just as drunk as Derek was.  
  
“You are everything,” Derek said back simply. He thought that explained plenty.  
  
-  
  
Derek heard Stiles’ Jeep rattle into his parking lot long before he heard the scrape of Stiles’ key in the lock. He loved that sound - the sound of Stiles entering his apartment as though he belonged here just as much as Derek did.  
  
“Hey,” Stiles said, poking his head through the door, then sliding through the smallest possible opening before shutting it behind him again. Derek tried not to smile at the way Stiles was - the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he couldn’t stop emphasizing each word he said with his hands. These were the things he loved about Stiles. He couldn’t help his smile.  
  
“I’m making lasagne,” Derek said from the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. There was a salad on the counter behind him, and he was patiently watching the lasagne brown in the oven, edges bubbling and crisping under the shitty yellow oven light.  
  
“I’m starving,” Stiles said, eying the oven as he hopped a bit in place, attempting to stay upright while he took off his shoes in the entry. Derek decided dinner was done and took the pan out of the oven to cool a bit.  
  
“I’ll bet,” he said, knowing that Stiles had been at practice for three hours after school that day because their playoff game was that Friday.  
  
Stiles ambled into the kitchen, and Derek pulled him to his chest. “Mmmmmm,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s shoulder, winding his arms around Derek’s waist.  
  
“Hey, sweetheart,” Derek whispered in his ear, taking the moment to properly greet his boyfriend. Stiles pulled just far enough away from Derek to look up into his eyes.  
  
“Hey, baby,” he said, still getting used to calling Derek things nicer than _you asshole_. Derek kissed him briefly, ran his hands over Stiles’ back. He could tell that he’d taken a shower after practice, but he could also tell that he’d been in his lacrosse pads for three hours that afternoon.  
  
Derek had learned a lot about Stiles in the two months they’d been officially dating. He’d learned that Stiles always wanted to cuddle, that he craved physical attention. He’d learned that Stiles had an incredible memory, and that his concentration issues were never a problem if he was interested in a subject. He’d learned how completely and utterly _cool_ Stiles thought anything wolf-related was.  
  
He’d learned that Stiles’ mom had died when he was fourteen, from leukemia, and that he missed her every single day.  
  
He’d learned that Stiles was shy about their relationship in public, even in front of his friends and Derek’s betas. No physical affection, no cute names. Derek wasn’t sure if it was a privacy thing or an embarrassment thing. He hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask him.  
  
He’d learned that once Stiles committed to something (or someone) he was in it for the long haul.  
  
“We can watch that superhero movie you like while we eat, if you want,” Derek said, letting himself nuzzle into Stiles’ neck, lacrosse stink be damned.  
  
“That is the vaguest statement I’ve ever heard,” Stiles said, baring his neck for Derek’s actions. Derek loved when Stiles so easily submitted to him. He loved how easily he could submit to Stiles. He loved that there wasn’t a single thing about Stiles or their relationship that reminded him of Kate.  
  
“Purposefully vague,” Derek said, and Stiles laughed.  
  
“ _Batman Begins_ it is,” Stiles said, and Derek knew that Stiles picked it for him. He had more tolerance for it than _The Avengers_. Derek understood the anger that came from losing everyone you loved. Everyone who loved you. He did not understand how demigods could exist in the same universe as a rich dude who built himself a suit and a gamma-irradiated monster. It just didn’t make any sense. He thought it lacked internal validity.  
  
Derek let Stiles set up the movie while he dished up the lasagna and the salad. He still got excited at these small moments of domesticity. He watched Stiles out of the corner of his eye as he tried to unfold the blanket on the back of the couch and spread it over the cushions in a less than subtle hint that he wanted to cuddle after dinner. Stiles accidentally stepped on one corner as he pulled another, twisting into a fall he controlled only enough to end up on the couch instead of the floor. Derek chuckled, bringing out the first load of plates and setting them on the coffee table before going back for silverware, napkins, and water.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles said in response to his laughter, a little pout on his face. Derek set his second load down on the table next to the plates and leaned over it to kiss Stiles.  
  
“You’re adorable,” he told Stiles, and watched his fake pout intensify on his face.  
  
“It’s a good thing I love you,” Stiles said, and all of Derek softened. It’d only been two weeks of using The L Word out loud as a description of their feelings for each other, and it still lit Derek on fire. He sat down next to Stiles, and put his arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close enough to press messy kisses on his temple and the side of his face.  
  
“God, I love you,” Derek said quietly, just to Stiles. He’d learned that Stiles liked that Derek was just his, and that their relationship, their love, was private.  
  
“I’m looking at colleges in New York,” Stiles said, a few bites into his lassagne. Derek’s ears perked up.  
  
“Oh yeah?” he asked. Derek had mentioned how much he missed New York a few weeks ago. How much he’d like to go back, at least for a visit.  
  
“I figured maybe you could take me out there and we could look at a few?”  
  
“I’ll do you one better,” Derek said, scooting closer to Stiles in an attempt to make them one entity.  
  
“What’s that?” Stiles asked, mouth full of pasta.  
  
“I’ll take you out there soon to look, and then when you get accepted to Columbia or NYU, we’ll get a place together. No dorms,” he said, trying to completely cut out Stiles’ dorm related anxiety ( _“What am I going to do when I have nightmares? How do you explain that to someone you don’t know?”_ ). Also because there was no way Stiles wasn’t waking up next to him every day the second he graduated from high school.  
  
“It’s really you and me, isn’t it?” Stiles asked, as he tended to do, when he thought things were getting too good to be true. Confirm the reality and weight of their situation.  
  
“Yeah, baby,” he said, putting down his fork to take Stiles’ hand in his own. “Me and you.”  
  
  
 **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who encouraged me through this - your comments and notes to me have been very genuinely appreciated - even if I am crap at replying. I do appreciate them. 
> 
> The Lowbrow is an actual restaurant, though it's in Minneapolis, not California. Seriously though, best burgers ever if you're in the area.
> 
> [Personal](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com) and [Teen Wolf](http://hannahisawolf.tumblr.com) tumblrs for your reference.


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